


In the lanternlight (we swear our oaths)

by Itar94



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Beard Braiding, Cross-cultural, Dwarves, Elves, Gigolas Week 2014, Hair Braiding, Jewelry, Khuzdul, M/M, Sindarin, Wedding, but the couple only has eyes for each other (of course), everybody is invited, headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1209583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itar94/pseuds/Itar94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gimli has always looked forward to draping his One in jewels and gold and marking him as his for all to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the lanternlight (we swear our oaths)

**Author's Note:**

> _This is my entry for Gigolas week 2014. And in my timezone it's still Day 6, so, posting this now. This somewhat fits into the 'hair/braiding' category (because hair jewelry) but also kind of 'meeting the family' but there was no 'wedding' category to choose from! So this is where I ended up. I tried out a new sort of writing style for this one ... I hope it's enjoyable anyhow._
> 
> _Since extremely little (or well, nothing, really) is known of Dwarven marriage customs in canon, I am making a lot of stuff up here. We know a bit more about Elven customs, but I might disregard some canon to make this fit with how I want it._  
>  _The idea from this fic sprung from this thought/headcanon: 'Dwarves usually wear much jewellery in their beards when they marry. Since Legolas doesn’t have one, Gimli makes him some very complex hair/head jewellery to make up for it.'_
> 
> _(Edit 2014-03-02) I've finished more **artwork** for this fic! Links in notes below._
> 
> _There is Khuzdul (Neo-Khuzdul). There is also Sindarin. Therefore the dialogue took me ages to write and I cannot guarantee it to be correct in any way or manner – if you happen to know either tongue I’d be extremely happy to get some advice/help/corrections!!_

**In the lanternlight (we swear our oaths)**

For Elves, a ceremony is not at all necessary. In fact they decide to have one mostly to please their fathers and friends – they would never hear the end of it if they ended up eloping (though it would have been much less stressful for certain) (and, truth to be told, they _have_ already bonded) (but neither Thranduil or Glóin know this for certain) – and Gimli has always looked forward to draping his One in jewels and gold and mark him as his for all to see.

He knows, of course, it is the wedding night that matters to Elves. And they have already touched – in desperate need when they feared death may come before the dawn, as they were to assemble before the dark gates of Mordor. That night Legolas’ fëa was bound to his Dwarf forever, and after death it will always, always remember him and seek him, and Legolas will wait until the Ending of the World and the creation of the Second World, wait for his Gimli, if Eru will not let them meet before that. But this is a night of merry and all grave thoughts shall be postponed. They have many long years to look forward to yet. (And they both surely look forward to  _tonight_.)

They are already bound. Legolas would have been content with this, but knows that it is best to perform a ceremony. Maybe then their fathers will finally see that their love is true and strong and nothing shall stop them.

There is song and dancing on a flower-clad forest floor, the stars twinkling above them like tiny jewels far off as the merry-making progresses. There are Dwarven harp players and Elven singers mixed about; old Dwalin has even dusted off his fiddle (slightly grumpily at first) for the occasion and Bofur joins in with his flute, encouraged by the young Dwarrowlings present.

No one would dare to breathe any foul words aloud; though in the beginning, before wine begins flowing like water and laughter spreads from one table to the other, some of the Elvenking's folk stare at the Dwarrows with coldness and some of them quite determinedly glare back, and Thorin III Stonehelm, the descendant of Dáin and now King Under the Mountain, finds himself busy trying to play truce maker. Somewhat surprisingly, Thranduil steps in then, as does Glóin - and the two seem to share some sense of understanding after all.

As is Elven custom, the ceremony and feast is to take place under the open sky. There they would have traditionally exchanged rings – for Elves, these are usually made of gold (if they care to have a ceremony at all, which, as said, not all have); but they have tired of rings, the Quest and all it entailed yet heavy on their minds. They shall exchange other gifts, some more practical than others. Braid beads will suffice well instead of rings, to be worn with pride. And they shall not be of gold: Gimli will have nothing but mithril for his One. He has crafted the matching pair himself during many hours of hard, careful work. Nothing but perfection will do.

Now at night, the trees full of the soft light of lanterns glimmering in silver and blue and red gives the illusion of being inside a spacious hall under the mountain, and this mixture of Elvish with Dwarfish – a beautiful union, mirroring the nature of the wedding that shall soon take place - pleases guests of all races. There are Men there also: Aragorn, a King in a ranger’s deceivingly simple garb; and with him his wife fair Queen Arwen and others from Minas Tirith; Faramir, Lord of Ithilien, and Éowyn his wife; and Éomer of Rohan and some of his folk. And four Hobbits are present, grinning wide and applauding after every song and dance (and sharing quite a few of their own).

As is Dwarven custom, the ceremony is lit by a hundred lanterns and luminous gems are strewn about in the grass. Dancing comes first, and drinking. The exchange of vows is the highlight, and therefore near the end of the night, and everything intensifies slowly in wait for that moment.

There is a traditional joust also – mainly with Dwarven participants (because this happens at every Dwarfish wedding and is a perfect moment to show one’s strength and prowess, and not all cultures share this practise) but a few Elves join also, as well as lady Éowyn (who cannot let such an opportunity to wield a sword pass up). There is fencing and archery and wrestling. It is a fair game and as the hour draws nearer, the winner is hoisted through the crowd with much cheer and laughter.

Legolas has little love for formality and would have been glad to be dressed as a simple Wood-Elf warrior. But his love, knowing there may not be another chance to see him clad like a proper Dwarf at a proper Dwarf wedding, goes to his forge where he has already begun making jewellery for his One, determined to see it completed.

Gimli drapes his Elf in gold.

Mithril is rare, very rare (and not cheap), and it took some time to acquire – a precious small amount he managed to get from the glistening veins in Moria during their journey, stuffed in his pockets long before he knew that he would end up loving an Elf. Jewels and other stones are much easier to come by; indeed, during his time as the Lord of Aglarond, Gimli has slowly but surely chiselled out a very small portion of the beautiful caves, to reach but a few of its values.

There are emeralds and diamonds meshed with gold - warm gold like his beloved’s hair in the light of a campfire (sharply contrasting Gimli’s rough hands as he would gently comb through the soft tresses); and pale gold like the sun’s rays on snow-covered slopes, like his One’s skin under the moonlight - for green and gold are the colours of his Elf. And he wears a sapphire on his forehead, surrounded by mithril, for blue are his eyes. The design is soft and flowing like Elves, and secure and complex like Dwarves - he cannot imagine only straight hard lines and black polished rock on his One.

Too busy himself with his own preparations this morning, Gimli hadn’t been able to clothe his Elf himself; but his dear Amad had helped – for she knows his designs and would be able to understand even the most complex piece her son has made, while an Elf might not. And Thranduil had not sat idly by either. The Elvenking has seen to that his son was robed in the soft silver of Mirkwood spidersilk and Legolas had let his Ada fuss, both touched and bemused, while the white-bearded Dwarrowdam soon to be his Naneth had gently but firmly braided him as if he were born in Erebor, one of the Nornwaith (or khazad as he had better begin to call them, for they are kin now, if not by blood then by oath).

Legolas has had his Dwarf’s copper beard braided and adorned with petals, and a wreath of flowers rest upon his hair, fresh and blooming – and he had sung to the blooms for them to last this day, from dawn to dusk and even longer, so that his One may display them: the deep red _seregon_ for ceaseless love, and ever-white _alfirin_ for prosperity and a bright future.

He, as well, had not been able to see it done himself, but he had spoken with Glóin and his Ada and somehow made them come to an agreement without either party attempt to assasinate the other; and they had helped to put the work together (much to the astonishment of everyone else). There are Dwarven clasps around the flower stems making Gimli look anything but delicate - and yet quite Elven. His Dwarvish ceremonial robes are heavy, a richly blue in colour, as is proper for one of Durin's line.

And Gimli is _beautiful,_ even if not all may see it so - but Legolas _knows_ and he has never been as happy as when his One approaches, his Dwarf with Elven braids in his beard and a flower crown woven by Legolas' hands; and they walk toward each other with eyes for nothing and no one else.

The Elf barely touches the soft grass with his bare feet, but the jewellery flutters in a gentle breeze with a soft chime and a sudden stillness falls over the clearing. The Dwarf’s feet are heavier, steady beneath him, and his boots creak quietly; it seems, by some spell, that all the lanterns have darkened save for those illuminating their path.

And Gimli finds himself unable to move for a moment at the sight. His One, bearing his jewels, draped in the gold Gimli has wrought – he is a finely polished gem displayed in the purest light, a diamond plucked right from the sky to be cherished; _he is perfect._

And Legolas finds himself unable to look away – his One, pale yellow _mallos_ bound into his hair and glimmering silver adorning his beard alongside the fragile petals; flowers Legolas had plucked in the slowly brightening Eryn Lasgalen, carefully choosing each bloom - his One is _perfect;_ there is no other word to fit him.

There is no averting of eyes. They are not shy of each other – they are beyond proud.

They meet half-way and there they clasp hands, Gimli standing elevated on an outcropping rock so that his One needn’t kneel for them to meet eyes. They are equal, and this all witnesses must understand. Soon, oh so soon! they shall weave a final wedding braid into each other's hair - the moment they have both longed for.

Gimli had discussed it earlier with his fellow Dwarves and his elders – left enough warnings for them to know beforehand what would be said (because heads could easily roll; secrets are secrets); but Gimli has been adamant (and he is as sturdy as a rock). And Legolas is now one of the Dwarves – and Gimli one of the Elves – and theirs is a beginning of something new, something that may change the world. ‘Tis only fitting then that not a word of Common is spoken as they make their vows.

Thus, he proclaims:

“Zû âzyngeluh gabil ra kurduh khudazhâl. Zû sanâzyung ra’ agrîfi zû. Agrîfizu?”

The audience is very quiet, everyone holding their breath in astonishment; never before has so much Khuzdul been uttered within hearing range of Men and Elves – except, perhaps, for sharp insults.

And his One answers:

“Zatâlgâbi.”

The word sounds a little odd on his sweet Elven tongue, but not wrongly so, Gimli finds to his delight. In turn, he supposes, the few Sindarin words he utters tonight must sound as twisted to the Elves. The accent they’ll never be rid of, but perhaps, one day, they shall be able to speak fluently in Khuzdul – maybe even the Elvish tongue (however absurd the thought!) – together, without fault, and maybe one day no one will look down at an Elf among Dwarves, or a Dwarf among Elves.

“Garathog ni hervenn gîn?” Legolas asks, and Gimli smiles, squeezing the deft long hands clasped within his own.

“Ma, Mîn nîn – an uir.” The foreign sounds are pleasant to utter for they are for his One and his One only; a promise and now all will see it, both Elves and Dwarves. Still – he fears he may be butchering the words; his tongue is made for coarser sounds. _“_ Zû sanâzyung ra’ agrîfi zû.”

“O sí im gwedhi in na len, an uir.”

Oh! it is such a bold statement in its simplicity: _eternity_. They shall have it together – somehow – they shall find it, because they have promised. Together, they shall travel across Middle Earth and together they shall settle a colony in Aglarond – and maybe, one day, together they shall sail further than either of them have ever been (but that is far ahead indeed).

And Gimli may be mortal, but he will not let it hinder him from promising:

“Ra zâyungi zû akhtùthuzhul. Kuŋ ubzûnizu, ubzûni.”

_Where you go, I will go._

**Author's Note:**

> **Artwork**   
>  [Legolas](http://itar94.deviantart.com/art/untitled-435707053)   
>  [Gimli](http://itar94.deviantart.com/art/untitled-2-437785238)   
>  [A kiss](http://itar94.deviantart.com/art/untitled-3-437786071)
> 
>  
> 
>  **Additional notes:**  
>  Mallos _and_ alfirin _(Sindarin for “immortal”) are flowers mentioned once in LotR that should grow in Lebennin; but since no more information is given, I took the liberty of assuming it could grow elsewhere; here in Mirkwood/the Greenwood. Legolas sings of them, which is why I thought them appropriate. He sings: “And the golden bells are shaken of mallos and alfirin // In the green fields of Lebennin”. Apparently alfirin could be similar or the same as simbelmynë; but I have taken the liberty to claim it is a different flower. Alfirin is white, while mallos is a pale yellow-golden._  
>  Seregon _is a plant with deep red flowers. They grew on the hill of Amon Rûdh in Beleriand. Once again I have taken liberties to claim that Legolas somehow have gotten hold of fresh such flowers when the wedding takes place just outside of Erebor._
> 
>  
> 
> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> _Sindarin :_
> 
>  **Ada(r)** – father  
>  **Naneth** – mother  
>  **Nornwaith** \- (the) Hardy Folk, _a polite name for dwarves_  
>  **Garathog ni hervenn* gîn?** \- Will you have me as your husband? _[Note: *I’ve encountered this spelled both_ hervenn and herven _, with one or two n:s, and I’m unsure which one is more correct.]_  
>  **Ma, Mîn nîn: an uir.** – Yes, my One: for eternity.  
>  **O sí im gwedhi in na len, an uir.** – From here _[alt. now]_ I bind myself to you, for eternity. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Neo-Khuzdul :_
> 
>  **Amad** \- mother  
>  **Zû âzyngeluh gabil ra kurduh khudazhâl. Agrîfizu?** \- You [are] my greatest love _[lit. (the) love of love(s)]_ and (the) holder of my heart. Will you have me?  
>  **Zatâlgâbi.** \- I will _[lit. “I affirm” or “I agree”. I couldn’t find a word for “yes” as such]._  
>  **Zû sanâzyung ra’ agrîfi zû.** \- You [are] my true _(alt. purest)_ love and I will have you.  
>  **Ra zâyungi zû akhtùthuzhul** \- And I will love you eternally _[lit. “eternal-like”; this was the closest word I could find]._  
>  **Kuŋ ubzûnizu, ubzûni** \- Where you go, I will go _[lit. ‘Where you walk/are walking (imp. 2nd p. sing.), I will walk/am walking (imp. 1st p. sing.)’. Note on “will [do something]”; Neo-Khuzdul apparently as only two tenses, perfect and imperfect (according to[this source](http://www.scribd.com/doc/98619024/Khuzdul-Tenses-Explained)); the stem ending “i-“ is imperfect tense and is used for an incomplete action, in this sentence indicating the future]._
> 
>  
> 
> _Or, the whole conversation translated, in correct order, with mixed Sindarin (S) and Khuzdul (Kh) :_
> 
> Gimli: _(Kh)_ “You are my greatest and the holder of my heart. Will you have me?”  
>  Legolas: _(Kh)_ “I will. _(S)_ Will you have me as your husband?”  
>  Gimli: _(S)_ “Yes, my One – for eternity. _(Kh)_ You are my true love and I will have you.”  
>  Legolas: _(S) _“From here and now I bind myself to you, for eternity.”__  
>  Gimli: _(Kh)_ “And I will love you eternally. Where you go, I will go.”


End file.
